


The Unwrapping of Draco Malfoy

by LaBelladoneX



Series: (W)rapture [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: D/Hr Advent 2019, Did I mention pining?, F/M, I Should Stop Now, I might have forgotten to mention pining..., IKEA, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Mutual Pining, Potential serving suggestion for Ikea meatballs, Ron Weasley Bashing, Vomiting is optional for that tag!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21583951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaBelladoneX/pseuds/LaBelladoneX
Summary: One night haunted them... forbidding two lost souls from moving on with their lives. She should never have left; he should never have let her go. When the opportunity comes to address their past mistakes, will they take it? Written for D/Hr Advent 2019.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: (W)rapture [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663330
Comments: 27
Kudos: 258
Collections: D/Hr Advent 2019





	The Unwrapping of Draco Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coyg81 (coyg_81)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyg_81/gifts).



> The past months have been a rollercoaster of emotions for me and the fandom has had to take a back seat. I miss my writing and editing so bloody much but I hope to return to my abandoned laptop early in the new year. I'd also like to thank those of you who contacted the Strictly Dramione admins on Facebook, or me directly, to make sure I was alright. Your messages meant so much!
> 
> Also, I'd like to send my love and everlasting friendship to my fandom family who mean the world to me - Claire, Michelle, Leigh, Kristin, Julia, Lesabelle, and Diletta. I love you guys! If I've forgotten anyone, forgive me - I'm hiding in my car typing this when I should be working LOL!
> 
> Artwork by coyg_81- isn't it classy? I love it!

_ CB: Mr Malfoy— _

_ DM: Please, call me Draco, Charlotte. _

_ CB: Thank you… Draco. It’s a pleasure to interview you on behalf of the Witch Weekly readers. I’m sure you can guess what my first question is going to be. _

_ DM: Ah, yes… why am I still single after all these years? Let’s just say I have my reasons. _

_ CB: And will you ever let us know— _

_ DM: No. _

The interview continued in the same vein as all other interviews — the same boring questions, the same predictable answers.

_ Why did you decide to become a double agent? _

_ Because it was the right thing to do.  _

_ How is your mother? _

_ Wonderful, thank you. Her horticultural expertise is a valued addition to Hogwarts now that she has taken over from Madam Sprout. Teaching suits her; I’ve never seen her so happy. _

_ And your father? _

_ Doing very well, his new book will be released shortly. _

_ Where do you keep your Order of Merlin, First Class? _

_ In my toilet. _

And so on… and so forth.

But Charlotte Bailiwick’s final question caught him off guard. 

_ “Do you have any regrets, Draco?” _

_ “I have one.” _

_ “Care to elaborate?” _

_ “No, but it will haunt me until my dying day.” _

Needless to say the Witch Weekly readers were in their element over this statement — a mysterious and regretful Draco Malfoy was a sexy-as-fuck Draco Malfoy — and, on the day of the interview’s publication, a record number of wet knickers resulted in many a happy wizarding partner… and the odd goat.

* * *

_ GRANGER DUMPS WEASLEY AS HE GETS CAUGHT WITH HIS PANTS DOWN… AGAIN! _

_ Another day, another excuse for Ron Weasley to get his wand out. This time he was spotted in a seedy part of Muggle London with his trousers around his ankles and his scantily-clad young companion on her knees in the snow. Need we say more, readers?  _

_ While the rest of the Weasley family are firm favourites amongst wizarding society, it seems the youngest son is desperate for attention in his own right. Such a pity he has to make a spectacle of himself in order to get it.  _

_ Let’s recap, readers… it’s been four years since peace has been restored to our wizarding world and, over that time, Ron Weasley has made a public show of himself on so many occasions we’ve lost count. But, through it all, his girlfriend — our beloved Hermione Granger — has stood by his side and suffered in silence. Why has she continued to do this? Why has she put up with the humiliation and finger pointing?  _

_ Haven’t we all asked ourselves that very same question? _

_ Well, it seems enough is enough. Miss Granger has “finally put on her big girl pants” — a phrase she was overheard using whilst chatting to longtime friend, Euphemia Bloodstock — and dumped her cheating boyfriend for good. According to another close associate of our favourite Muggleborn witch, Miss Granger has left her Athame Way apartment for pastures unknown — no doubt to return when this latest scandal has died down. _

_ Here at Witch Weekly we all wish Miss Granger the best of luck in finding happiness and, once again, we find ourselves rolling our eyes at her ex-boyfriend.  _

_ Come to think of it, there’s a certain blond wizard who’s still single… what do you think, readers?  _

_ Turn to page 7 for more insight. _

* * *

**December, three months later**

Hermione knew the words of both articles by heart, wondering — just like everyone else who’d read his interview — what Draco’s regret was. It was probably something to do with his pureblood background, or maybe his position within Malfoy Industries. Maybe it was a bad choice in hair gel… who knew? What she  _ did _ know, however, was that she thought about him often.

Too often.

She’d never stopped.

Even if Ron had been the most loving boyfriend in the world — if he’d pulled the stars out of the sky for her — it would never have been enough.

Hermione stayed with Ron because she believed she was just as bad as he was. She believed she was a cheat, exactly like him. The only difference was he publically made a show of her, shagging anything that moved. She privately wished she was loved by someone else.

Because her heart certainly didn’t belong to Ronald Weasley. It belonged to… well, it belonged to someone who probably never thought of her.

She didn’t deserve Ron; no one deserved  _ him _ .

But she felt she didn’t deserve to be happy either. 

The weeks leading up to Christmas were quiet and full of life-altering thoughts and plans for Hermione. She took an extended leave of absence from her job at the Ministry and began to study again — this time for a Mastership in Ancient Runes, specialising in the Elder Futhark alphabet and the deciphering style of Sophus Bugge. Home was now away from the wizarding world, in a small cottage on the outskirts of Mudford Sock in Somerset. She was actually so near the Burrow it was laughable and, although Molly and Ginny were the only ones who knew her actual address, everyone else thought she was somewhere in Wales. 

That rumour kept them all away. No one wants to go to Wales if they can avoid it.

Five days before Christmas — which she was determined to spend on her own despite the pleas of some new friends she’d made in the village — Hermione decided it was about time to decorate the cottage. Borrowing her neighbour’s car, she spent many happy hours in the nearest Ikea, coming home with an overstuffed car and a stomach full of meatballs. 

Hermione probably didn’t need the Stocksund chaise longue — in Järstad antique effect — or the Sanela cushions in golden-brown, dark red, and light beige, or even the Segstarr throw — also in light beige — but she figured she might as well treat herself. Already she could visualise Christmas Day, curled up by the fire amid multiple cushions and surrounded by the furry throw, devouring one of her new novels and watching The Great Escape.

Not forgetting, of course, the Lindor chocolates and her favourite Merlot.

Bliss.

Discreetly taking the furniture out of the magically enlarged car, she cautiously transferred all her purchases into her cottage with a swish and flick. The car was then returned to her neighbour, along with a bottle of wine as a thank you gift. Needless to say, the wine was opened immediately — along with a few more for good measure — and a very tipsy Hermione arrived home some hours later, tripping over something as she opened her front door and landing in a heap on the tiled floor.

Cursing colourfully, she reached out to find a small parcel wrapped in brown paper in front of her. Out of habit it was checked for curses and traces of dark magic before she even considered opening it — constant vigilance, even whilst drunk. Moody would be so proud. The address on the parcel was definitely hers but only two people from her world knew exactly where she lived so perhaps this was from someone local. But who? And why would they…?

She frowned, confusion clouding her mind. 

“Only one way to find out,” she said aloud. “Let’s see…”

Underneath the brown paper was the most luxurious gift wrapping paper she had ever seen. It looked like satin, felt like decadence, and shone like moonlight. It must have cost a fortune, a far cry from five rolls for a Sickle in Knutcracker’s Discount Stores. She didn’t recognise the white pattern at first, turning the paper around in her hand until she noticed a floral theme. Hermione cast a quick  _ Lumos _ , too intrigued to stand up and turn on a light. She knew the flower from Molly’s garden but didn’t know the name; there had never been enough time to ask, considering the threat of impending death and the onslaught of teenage hormones. Mentally making a note to find a book on flowers, she turned her attention to the gift box the paper now revealed. 

Inside was a single flower, a replica of the wrapping paper. The stem was stiff so the flower could stand, the vintage white petals silk to her touch. A small card lay beneath the flower, the print unfamiliar.

_ Always remembered. _

It didn’t make sense and Hermione was a little too drunk to dwell on the note, or the flower. She stood up carefully and placed the items on her coffee table, deciding it was best to sleep off her current state of inebriation.

* * *

**Four days to Christmas**

One Weasleys’ Wake-Up Wonder, one bacon butty, and two mugs of builders’ tea later, Hermione was greeting the new day with dark sunglasses and a dull ache in her right knee where she’d landed on it the night before. That didn’t stop her, however, from walking into the nearest town and heading straight for her favourite bookshop. She emerged into the winter sunlight some time later with  _ The Flowering A-Z  _ by Flora Bell and  _ The Language of Flowers _ by Dahlia Goosefoot. 

Another parcel greeted her on her doorstep when she arrived home.

She looked around, wondering who could have left it there. The Muggle post always arrived at 7am, she was gone just before 10am, and it was now nearing lunchtime. So someone had personally delivered this parcel. 

_ Again, who? _

Gathering up the parcel, Hermione struggled with her bags and keys, eventually letting herself into the cottage and making her way into the kitchen. More tea was needed.

This second parcel revealed equally ornate wrapping paper and another silk flower. She recognised this one immediately — Globe Amaranth — her grandmother grew them in a variety of shades. This single one was a deep magenta, rich and vibrant in colour and texture.

A similar card was waiting for her attention.

_ Unfading love. _

Tea made and set on the book-laden coffee table, Hermione gathered the two flowers and opened her newly purchased books. Research led to her discovering the first bloom was a white Strawflower, also known as Everlasting. It looked old, its colour that of an age gone by when Hollywood had its heyday and starlets danced the Charleston. 

Its meaning was as the card stated —  _ always remembered. _

What was remembered? 

Or who?

She couldn’t think. And the second flower was no help either. 

_ Unfading love. _

She sipped her tea in deep thought. Suddenly, as if a spark had ignited in front of her eyes, Hermione gasped. 

Could it be? Could she hope?

Did she dare?

That night she dreamt of smooth skin sliding against her own, beads of sweat glistening in the darkness, dropping from one body to the other. 

But it wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory.

* * *

**Three days to Christmas**

The parcel arrived when she’d taken a phone call from one of her neighbours who couldn’t find their cat. 

Heliotrope, the purple silk blossoms a delightful accompaniment to the first two flowers. They were now in a Sockerärt jug vase — Ikea, of course — which suited the cottage’s country interior perfectly. But that was beside the point, the message was the most important.

_ Faithfulness. _

Hermione was torn. She didn’t think she was faithful to Ron, her heart was never his. But then she realised that she  _ was _ faithful, her love was true… only for someone else.

She was entirely devoted to a person who hadn’t wanted her. 

But now… maybe…

The memories returned that night. His fingers — so gentle, so unsure — caressed her skin like the whispers of the sweetest fae. He had wanted to trace every vein, every curve. It had been the most sensual experience, bringing Hermione to tears of raw emotion as her body fell in love with his touch. He had made her feel as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world — not a young girl giving her precious gift to a nervous and inexperienced boy. It was true that he was her first but she was unaware that she was also his. He hadn’t been brave enough to tell her. 

Another regret to add to his list.

* * *

**Two days to Christmas**

The fates were definitely conspiring against Hermione Granger. She rose before the postman was scheduled to pass by and positioned her chaise so she’d see any shadow that would linger by the front door. She didn’t expect any letters considering her neighbours had all hand delivered their gifts — as had she — and both Molly and Ginny couldn’t figure out Muggle post no matter how many times Hermione had explained it. 

She stared at the door until her eyes grew heavy but she was determined to remain awake. By lunchtime, she was absolutely starving and bursting for a wee — thanks to all the coffee she’d magically brewed throughout the morning.

The moment she closed the toilet door behind her, the parcel landed on the floor in the hallway. Cursing loudly, Hermione tripped over her pyjama bottoms that were wrapped around her ankles and, again, landed in an undignified heap. 

It took a while to figure out what bloom she now held in her hand, its matching wrapping paper folded carefully on the coffee table. It was a remarkable shade of reddish-purple, the flower drooping over her fingers, the leaf familiar to her. Frowning, Hermione traced her fingers over the silken petals for a few moments, sure she’d seen them before.

She checked for the card.

_ I dreamed of thee. _

Her breath caught; she knew exactly who she was dreaming of, she’d never forget the time spent in his arms.

Could it be him?

She looked down at the flower, its name coming to mind instantly.

Thornapple. Also known as Devil’s Snare. 

Technically it was a weed but she didn’t think that mattered just then.

Her heart lifted and Hermione smiled, placing the Thornapple alongside the other gifts.

That night she dreamt of his lips — how they had made her cry out as they kissed parts of her body only he had touched. He drank from her body as if she was the only one who could quench his thirst, his tongue bringing her to the brink of ecstasy over and over again.

* * *

**Christmas Eve**

Several phone calls from partying neighbours spoiled Hermione’s plans of another stakeout — this time with considerably less coffee. She had briefly considered incontinence pads, but even she realised that was all kinds of desperate!

She agreed to go for a few Christmas drinks, knowing full well that her friends would only start pounding on her door if she didn’t turn up. And so, as expected, she was greeted with a familiar parcel on her floor when she returned just before midnight.

The most beautiful baby pink wrapping paper, decorated with pink Camellias, lay beneath the plain packaging. And the flower itself was stunning, its silk petals lying in perfect formation. Tears welled in Hermione’s eyes as she held the flower to her cheek, whispering his name quietly, wishing with all her heart as her clock chimed midnight.

The card’s message was one of hope.

_ Longing for you. _

And, oh, how she longed for him.

* * *

**Christmas Day**

Hermione woke up to a gentle knocking on her door. She was still on her couch, the pink Camellia clutched tightly in her hand. A quick glance at her clock informed her it was a little after seven, but there was no way the postman would be delivering anything on Christmas Day.

So who…?

She bit her lip, looking down at her wrinkled clothes from the night before — no doubt she looked like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Running her hands through her hair — relieved to find it was still quite smooth — she made her way to the front door as the knocking continued.

He stood with a familiar package in his hands. He hadn’t changed that much — a little extra weight had only enhanced his handsome features. His eyes were still the colour of storm clouds as they cleared to welcome a blue sky, his hair identical to the shade of the first flowers he’d sent.

He held out the parcel.

“Merry Christmas, Granger.”

Hermione couldn’t speak, her hands shaking as she accepted his gift. Her eyes never left his, terrified that he’d disappear again if she turned away. 

“Don’t… don’t leave,” she stammered, struggling to open the parcel blindly. “Please… Draco…”

He nodded, stepping into her hallway as she made room for him. 

“Thank you.”

“Will you sit for a moment?” she began, discarding the outer packaging onto the floor. “Let me open this now?”

His heart filled with hope as he agreed to her request. Sitting on the edge of her chaise, he noticed her vase of silk flowers. 

“Ikea?”

“Of course.”

He smiled. “I love their meatballs.”

“Seriously? You?”

“I’m well versed in Muggle culture these days, Granger. I figured I should be if…” he trailed off. 

“Gravy or jam?” she asked suddenly.

“Both. Jam on the plate, gravy in a separate ramekin… for dipping.”

“That’s exactly what I order! How—" 

“Open your gift… please.”

Hermione did as he requested, surprised to find the wrapping paper decorated with sprigs of holly. And, true to form, inside the box was a small holly wreath, part of it sparkling brightly in her eyes. 

“There’s no card,” she commented, looking up. “Will you tell me the meaning?”

Draco stood up and walked back over to her. Taking the holly and the wrapping from her hands, he placed them on her cluttered coffee table and turned back to face the woman he loved with all his heart.

“Did you read my latest interview with Charlotte Bailiwick?” he asked, taking her hands in his.

“Yes,” Hermione whispered. “Over and over again.”

“Ask me what my regret is,” he replied. “You’re the only person I’ll ever reveal it to.”

“What do you regret, Draco?” she asked quietly. “Tell me.”

“That I let you go.”

“Draco—”

He pulled her into his arms, his face full of pain as he rested his forehead against hers. A tear slid from his closed eyes.

“I love you. I have always loved you. We had such a short time before the war, I should have fought for your side sooner. I was too late. Now, I’m… I’m begging you to forgive me for letting you go. I need your forgiveness, I need  _ you.” _

Tears also escaped Hermione’s eyes as she moved forward to lay her head on Draco’s shoulder. He held onto her like she was his only lifeline to this world, his body shaking with emotion. 

“You don’t need my forgiveness, Draco," she replied, her voice breaking. "I need yours. I should never have walked away, I was wrong to think I could start a new life with… with… someone else. I’ve always belonged to you and, even if you never wanted me, my heart will be yours till I die.”

She looked up through her tear-filled eyes to feel his own tears drop onto her cheek.

“I love you,” she choked, “I love you so much.”

“Oh, Hermione,” he cried, “I… gods, I love you.”

They held each other as if they couldn’t survive alone. Minutes, hours, or days went by and neither moved, the atmosphere charged with their emotions.

After a while, Hermione broke the silence. 

“Draco, what does the holly signify?”

She felt him smile before he replied. “Domestic happiness,” he answered. “A proposal of sorts.”

She laughed. “Of sorts?”

“Yes,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I propose that we never leave each other… ever.. Look at the holly again.”

Hermione stepped out of his embrace and carefully picked up the wreath. There, nestled amongst the berries and leaves, was a delicate necklace with a white clover pendant in silver and enamel. It was simple and pretty, its meaning explained by Draco as she held her hair up so he could place it around her neck. 

“White clover symbolizes a promise as well as a question,” he said. “I promise to love you, Hermione. I promise to never let you go again. All I ask is that you agree to be mine.”

He tenderly kissed her neck before wrapping his arms around her again, her back to his chest. 

Hermione slipped an arm around his neck, pulling his head down to hers.

“Always,” she whispered against his lips.

_ Fin. _

**Author's Note:**

> So... what happened that night? 
> 
> Let me know what you all think, please. Christmas presents might be in the form of a little prequel, if you're all good and brush your teeth.


End file.
